


I Can't Believe I'm Going to Tell this Story...

by AylaCastopolous



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-02-16 13:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AylaCastopolous/pseuds/AylaCastopolous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kind of AU, based off a roleplay I did sometime ago. Natasha tells you how she met Clint (At least how she met Clint in the roleplay I was doing at the time).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

You know that awkward moment in your life when you’re staring into the face of the man who’s going to bring your death and you think: Wow... he’s handsome. Too bad I didn’t get the chance to seduce this one. No? Oh... maybe that’s just me then. Either way that’s what I was thinking the first time I had ever laid eyes on Clinton Francis Barton.

I had known that I was being watched for days before I even met the man who would ultimately be my demise. I wasn’t even on a job at the time. I was just resting in a crappy bed and breakfast on the crappy side of Moscow. Cheap. Filthy. And secluded. Just the way I hated them. I prefered more public areas. I’ve always found that it was easier to hide in a crowd, even with my bright red hair, the gentle curls that settled at my tail bone and vibrant green eyes can disappear in even a small throng of people.

It was night. It was cold (as usual, it was winter after all) and I had just returned from another boring night at the bar. Looking for someone to share my bed for the night. Just to ease the boredom I felt while I waited for my current employer to contact me with another hit, not a single man in there had captured my interest enough to go back with. I knew my stalker was in the room before I even opened the door. How? Well, let’s just call it a feeling.

The little hairs on the back of my neck rose and a familiar chill ran down my spine. He was in there. I could feel his eyes through the door. Though, at the time I didn’t know Clint was a man. Just like how I knew he was on the other side of my door; I knew he was a he.The moment I had felt his eyes on me I knew.

I took a deep breath before I opened the door and entered the dark room. I felt a dark grin curl my lips, my tongue darting out to lick them like I was some tigress about to sink her fangs into a plump looking bird. Instead of the Spider I was named after. I couldn’t see him out in the open. He was good at hiding. But not good enough. There on the floor was an oddly shaped shadow that hadn’t been there when I left at least two hours earlier.

Now, at this point in my story I know that some of you might complain and say, “Natasha, of course there would be a different shadow in the room, that happens when the sun goes down.” But no! You don’t understand. After all the years I’ve been a spy, alive even, you don’t think I wouldn’t know what it looks like when the sun or moon casts the shadows of objects in a room? I do and this one was different.

I shut the door behind me and felt my grin widen. Leaning against the hardwood of the door I chuckled. A low and velvety sound that often lured my prey into my kill happy assassins fingers. Turning the lock on the door I said, “It seems you are my prisoner now... How stupid of a bird can you be if you have fallen into the web of a deadly spider.”

Oh how that line smacked me in the face once I learned what Clint’s nickname actually was. It still makes me laugh to this very day. The only reason I had made such a connection was because I knew that the agency had changed tactics after I sent those weak assassin wannabes back to them in bodybags. All ten of them. No doubt those were their best, but they were not good enough. Now they sent this Sniper. A nice change of pace, but I knew he’d be easy to kill especially because he was down from his perch. Stupid of him really. He would have had a better chance at killing me from afar. So, why he dared to enter my room was a little baffling and I will admit that even though the claims of me not being able to feel emotions which was untrue even all those years ago (I could _feel_ emotions but they weren’t strong, ghosts of feeling which were easily ignored) I was shocked and surprised and a little voice in the back of my head which was my sickly twisted conscience told me to be worried.

“Hehehe...” The mystery man chuckled in response as he came in from the open window. Again, some of you may wonder why I left the window open in Russia in the middle of winter, well it was to lure him in. And it seemed to have worked. Good. “Maybe you should be wondering if it is you who is the stupid one? What Spider would willing walk onto the same branch as a Hawk?” He reached up and flicked on a lamp. I could just barely tell but I thought I saw the corner of his mouth which was turned up into a smirk twitch. I looked younger than he thought. I knew what he’d would see. An eighteen year old girl. But, I was much older than that. Clearly, his employer had not told him much about me. Did he not believe that an (in his mind) an eighteen year old girl could kill so many people?

I felt my eyebrow twitch. He was handsome. More than handsome he was closer to beautiful. In a gruff kind of way. The man’s sandy blond hair was cut short, his eyes a blue/grey like the clouds before a storm, his lips were perfect, actually everything about him was perfect. He was a little on the short side, but even through his heavy black jacket I could tell he was thick with muscle. He was older than I had expected. Somewhere in his thirties, maybe. Like I said before. Perfect.

“Oh, is that what you are? A Hawk?” I crossed my arms over my chest to keep my fingers from grabbing my knife out of ankle sheath. It seemed he wanted something other than a quick kill. This one liked to talk. Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate to take out someone who wished to end my life, but I almost felt like it would be a waste to end a man as lovely as him. I hated to end two perfectly good hands for killing. _Oh well._ My inner assassin told me. _It would be best to kill him now. Stop standing there and end him! I_ knew she was right so I began to shrug off my jacket. “What are you waiting for then? Stop talking and try to kill me. n The others didn’t waste this much time trying.”

I saw his cheek twitch at the mention of those who came before them. He hated the idea that they were dead. Typical American. Their hired hands were known for hot-headed tempers and feelings. Forming bonds with their fellow agents. Pathetic. Getting attached to others left only weaknesses. “I’m not like the others.” He replied. I could feel the hatred rolling off him in waves. Good. It would make him sloppy.

I rolled my eyes and stepped away from the door. My heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I gave him a wide berth and never took my eyes off him as I set my jacket aside. I was wearing a black cocktail dress. One that I knew clung to my curves like a second skin, just like I knew the heels I was wearing made my legs look a mile long. Now, let’s get this straight. I am not a tall woman, nor am I a “thin” woman. But, I know how to work what I was given and I loved doing it. It showed in his eyes as he dragged them from my face down my body. He found me attractive as I knew he would. There was not a straight man (and occasional woman) in the world that did not find me so.

Cocky words you might say, but I have ample proof. I keep a record. Notches on the inside on my gun cases. Don’t even think about asking me how many there are between my two cases because I couldn’t tell you. And, I won’t count them either. That would take too long and I’m trying to tell you a goddamn story. If you want to know then ask me some other time and just maybe I’ll humor you.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay... so where was I? Oh, yes that’s right...

I leaned on the desk that held my suitcase in a way that I knew would entice him further. Even in the dim light I saw his cheeks flush and knew I had him hooked. He even removed his own jacket, confirming my thoughts on his form earlier. His black t-shirt did nothing to hide his well cut form. “Clearly.” I replied throwing in a little seductive purr to my voice for good measure. “If you feel the need to talk then have a seat. I’ll exchange a few words with you before I slit your throat and watch while you bleed out onto the floor. I’d like to know what kind of killer spends perfectly good killing time talking with their target.”

“I’d rather stand. thanks for the offer though. And, just so you know. I don’t usually get so close to my prey-”

“No.” I say cutting him off. “You are a sniper, are you not?”

It was his turn to twitch. His left cheek. “How do you know I’m a sniper?”

“I’ve been in this business for quite a long time. I know the difference between Spies and Snipers.”

“And, just how long have you been in this ‘business’?” His arms cross over his chest and that smirk that I have begun to think of as arrogant and irritating is back on his fair face. And I want to reach out a smack it right off his lips.

“Longer than you.” I vaguely reply with a shrug of my shoulder. He laughs, and it’s a full sound that nearly makes the room shake. He is amused by that fact, which I am sure he believes is a lie.

“Longer than me? I don’t think so sweetheart. By the looks of it I’ve been a killer than a lot longer than you’ve been alive.” First of all. I didn’t like pet names and I still don’t. The only reason I allow Clint to do so now is because I’ve learned that he’ll never stop. It’s just his personality and I’ve grown to like it when he calls me them. But no one else is allowed. The last person who called me something along the lines of “baby” -cough cough- Stark -cough cough- Had a bullet put through his coffee cup. Anyway! I got off track again. Ummm.... longer than you... dat dat dat daaah... pet names... Okay.

First of all I didn’t like pet names and this “Hawk” was going to learn that real quick. In an action that was almost too quick for him to react to I sent a small knife flying towards his face and buried it hilt deep into the wall behind him. He just barely dodged it a thin line of red along that twitchy cheek of his where the razor sharp blade grazed it. “Do not call me ‘sweetheart’ I am the farthest thing from it.” I warned. His eye brows knitted in aggression and he took a step forward that I assume was supposed to look menacing.

“If I didn’t think it was a waste to ruin such a beautiful face as yours I’d return the favor. You’re lucky.”

“Ha!” I crack. “Lucky? You should be be the one to feel lucky that I didn’t kill you with my knife.” He growled. Like actually growled. Interesting.

“Kill me? You missed, Natalia.” He wiped the blood from his cheek as he said this. It was true that I counted that as a miss. But, most others wouldn’t. Still though I felt a strange tug in my chest where my heart was supposed to be when I heard my name on his lips. It sounded like it belonged there, I liked it when he said my name. I realized, but I wish he had called me Natasha instead. The name I was currently using. The girl that was Natalia died a long time ago. “Natasha.” I blurted out suddenly stopping him from taking another step forward and no doubt making an attempt on my life.

“What?” He said startled.

“That’s my name. Natasha. Natasha Romanov. Say it.” I demanded.

“Why?” He glared at me like he thought I was lying. “The file on you said your name was Natalia Romanova. Not Natasha.” I look away from him for the first time and sighed. It was a dangerous move but I wanted him to let his guard down. He couldn’t do that if I didn’t pretend to do the same.

“The girl that was Natalia no longer exists. She died at the hands of her trainers.” Out of the corner of my eyes I saw his shoulders sag. And that’s when I lunged. My hands for his throat. He wasn’t prepared but it seemed as he wasn’t unprepared for it either. We went down to the floor in a heavy thud my hands around his throat his hands in my hair yanking my head back. I looked down at this man beneath me and found that I couldn’t make my hands do anymore than wrap around his throat. They didn’t want to work beyond that. We were like that for a while. just staring at each other me straddling his waist hands around his neck, his in my hair. It was if we were frozen. It was as if we had both been shocked by my Widow’s Bite. That’s how it felt to touch him. To be feel his hands on my skin.

“Clint.” He whispered. Breaking the silence and the spell. “My name is Clint Barton.” His voice shocked me from my revery. I had a killer to kill. As quick as I could I let go with one hand to reach back to my ankle sheath to realize that I had already used that knife. _Shit_...


	3. Chapter Three

Within a the span of heartbeat I found myself on my back a fist swinging towards my face. Looks like all the bindings were off and the jig was up. Time to get down and dirty. I just barely blocked the hit with my arm. He had settled his legs between mine, hips against hips. I could work with this. I brought one of my knees up to his hip as if we were ( _sigh_... Clint hates it when I swear so to ease his... pfff whatever you want to call it I won’t... for a professional killer he sure acts like a pansy sometimes...) making love instead of trying to kill each other, I let my calf settle over the small of his back and then WHAM! I was back on top. Reaching for the closest thing I could use as a weapon: a pillow? _Seriously? Natasha that is the best weapon you could reach for? A pillow?_ The little Spider Assassin hissed at me from the inner recesses of my mind. I was about to slam the pillow onto his face when I felt a hot searing pain hit the middle of my thigh.

  
I don’t let it show how much it hurt aside from a little tension around my eyes. I glance down long enough to see. An arrow!? There’s an arrow sticking out of my leg. A few inches deep. “What the hell kind of sniper are you?” I huffed, letting my training take over, detaching myself from the pain and jeez what a pain it was. “I’ve never seen anything so archaic since I was in Japan!” I teased.

The joke didn’t go unnoticed by Mr. Barton who used an arm to block the pillow (just barely I might add) as I felt him chuckle beneath me. “Fighting Samurai’s were you?” He retorted with a snort. Shoving me back and away from him. I just barely flip out of the way as he went to stab me with a large military grade knife. I had even less time to rip the arrow from my flesh as I went.

I was up at the same time he was the familiar feeling of my blood running down my thigh making me smirk. I’m really glad that I couldn’t scar. But, it was the thought that counted right? “Corrupted monks actually. I’ve changed my targets over the years.”

  
“SHIELD has noticed... Miss or is it Mrs. Romanov?” He said all the while stalking toward me like some predator and I found that really really HOT (But, don’t tell Clint that. It would only stroke his ego further. It’s high enough as it is... hahaha...). “Human Traffickers, Pimps, Kidnappers, Drug Dealers...” I even found myself mesmerized by the tempo of his walk as he listed off my most current kills until he was upon me. His body pressing mine to the wall at my back.Talk about getting stuck between a rock and a hard place. The hard place being the wall and the rock being Barton. He was all hard muscle and sinew

.  
Now, earlier I said that I wasn’t a “thin” woman, but I am not “soft” either. Even then my body was well toned but pressed against Clint my flesh molded to his. “It’s MISS Romanov. Mr. Barton. There is no ring on my finger.” I brought up my hands to shove him away, but he was quick and smarter than his buff physique let on. He always made sure his legs were between mine so I couldn’t take any as he calls them “cheap shots” (over the years I’ve argued that in a life or death situation there are no such things, but Clint has always disagreed. I suppose that’s why I’m always saving his sorry ass. And, I mean that in the best possible way), and even with the knife in his hand he is able to grab both my wrists and pin them above my head.

  
I saw his lips curve up in a smile as I test his hold giving them a little tug. “Ahh... so there is no one to miss you? That’s a shame.” He snarled.

  
“If I were a different woman I’d say that’s a blessing.” I purred letting my foot slide up the back of his leg.

  
“If you were an actual woman? You mean?” I noticed how his expression got tighter as my foot ran higher up his leg until again my knee was at his hip, pushing us even closer if that were possible.

  
“You do not think I am?” I chuckled.

  
He grasped both my wrists in one of his hands and brought the blade to my throat pushing against the skin of my throat until I could feel it’s stinging bite. “You just look like one. Inside I have no doubt you are just a scared little girl.”

  
Ouch. How could he had known that? Unless that was true for him. “Just as I have no doubt that you are nothing but a scared little boy, Mr. Barton. Most men like you are. I on the other hand have not that particular weakness.” I lied. But it’s not like he could tell. My expression hardly changes.

  
“It’s Agent Barton.” He hissed, not liking my jibe. “Why are you letting this happen so easily?” He asked. “Do you want to die?”

  
I shrugged as much as the position would allow. “Maybe I do. Or maybe I’m just waiting for the right time to strike? Maybe I’m tired of taking orders from men like you. Or Maybe I’m just tired in general?”

  
“So many maybes.” He pressed the blade closer and I could feel more of my blood well up from beneath it.

  
We locked eyes after that and while I had him distracted I noticed his grip on my wrists had loosened some. Enough that if I tugged hard enough my hands would be freed! With my hands now free I am able to slam both of hands into his temples. While it wouldn’t knock him out it would distract him further allowing me the space to get away and get another knife. One that wasn’t embedded in the other wall by the window.

  
As he gripped the side of his head in pain my plan was easily executed. And, soon I had slashed a large gash between his shoulder blades. I would not kill him quickly now. I would torture him make him last as long as I could and then use his own communicator to tell whoever was on the other end of the line that they had another body to collect. Body number eleven.

  
I watched as he slumped down to all fours on the floor, his blood running down his back. “You should have kept your distance.” I hissed into his ear, grabbing what I could of his hair, yanking back his head so he had to look at me as I raked my own blade across his neck giving him a similar cut to mine. I kept my grip on his hair as I _licked his blood clean from my knife_...


	4. Chapter Four

His blood was the sweetest I’ve tasted. I still think that way and I almost always make it a point to taste the blood of my victims before I do them in. And Clint’s well, let’s just say his blood made me wish I was a vampire. It was sweet and tangy, it didn’t taste much of copper like most blood usually did. It was like a rare fruit, or a piece of expensive chocolate. (Oh yeah... I really am sick... -facepalm- I’m sitting here writing this and all I can think is... how did Clint see enough good in me at all to think I was worth saving?)

Somehow Agent Barton still had enough strength to stand. The mere soldier was determined to be my end and in the back of my mind I knew that I was ready for it. My demise... I knew death would come for me eventually, Super Serum or not... skills or not, death was an unavoidable aspect in an Assassins life. We lie and we steal and we kill, to survive, to make money, or sometimes because it’s the only thing we know. I knew that I could never go have a “normal” life, and that my job was the only thing I could count on in my life. It put food on my table, a roof over my head. I didn’t really have much skills beyond it and if I started a “normal” life under a new name would feel like a lie. And, I didn’t like lying unnecessarily.

“They never prepared me for how sick you were.” He panted.

“Sick?” I laughed a dark sound that dripped with menace. “You have no idea what sick is.” I slashed at him again his knife colliding with mine, sparks flew between the blades as we struggled to slice the throat of the other I realized something. I had been holding back. I was a Super Soldier. I could easily overpower this man before me, but I had not. Maybe it was my time. Or maybe fate had something else planned for me. I wasn’t sure, but at the same time I was secretly hoping for my death. I was tired. So tired. Just about eighty years of killing and orders and lies and I just wanted it to stop, but at the same time I couldn’t.

“Oh, I believe I do. We’re very much alike you and I. We’re both killers and liars. I’ve done my fair share of crimes. I’ve been there done that.” I could feel my expression cracking.

“No...” I whisper. “You have not seen what I’ve seen, experienced what I did. You were not a killer by the age of eight! Or a seductress by twelve!” I was yelling before the sentence was over. Backing away from this man who was clearly shocked by my words. His face had paled and his eyes were as wide as my own. Though for very different and yet similar reasons. He was shocked because of what I just revealed to him and I was shocked that I had revealed anything like that to him at all.

I sat on the edge of the bed. “Do what you will, Agent Barton. I no longer have much will to fight you. Either I kill you because you now know too much, or you kill me like your orders tell you.”

I let the knife slide from my hands and clatter onto the floor as Agent Barton pressed his knife to my neck and pushed me back onto the bed. If someone were to walk in right then it would look as if we were two loves entangled in a rather violent and kinky embrace, not that the idea of being in that kind of situation with a man as beautiful as him. I counted it as a blessing that I could die by such steady hands. Quick or slow I was happy enough to die with such a lovely man as my Reaper.

I felt the cool metal of handcuffs click on one of my wrists as he dragged it over my head. I brought the other one up to make things easier for him. I watched as that now familiar smirk crossed his features again, “This change in you is unsettling.” He whispered a few inches from my nose. I chose not to respond as I felt the other cuff click shut around my other wrist. “If you were to be given another chance, would you take it? Try and wipe your ledger clean? Make things right?”

I stared up at him and said, “I don’t know. I don’t know if I could even attempt to clean my ledger. It drips with hundreds of victims innocent or not.” The fact that I gave him any answer at all seemed to have been enough.

Barton placed a finger to his ear and said, “Coulson, we have a change of plans. I’m bringing this one in. Alive.” I could feel my eyes widen in shock. The first emotion I ever felt that wasn’t dulled by the coldness I felt in my chest since my first kill. “Wh-” He placed a hand over my mouth to silence me and I resisted the urge to bite him. Hard. “Coulson will you trust me with this?” I could just barely make out the rather furious and loud argument of whoever this ‘Coulson’ was. “I’ll deal with Director Fury. He’ll see, Miss Romanov will be a valuable asset to SHIELD.” No more than one tense and silent hour later and Agent Barton and I were on our way to SHIELD HQ in New York. Via a plane they called a “Quinjet”. I even got to meet Agent Coulson who apparently was Barton’s keeper. He glared at me from across the jet and insisted that I remained in the handcuffs though I knew I could slip free of them in under a heartbeat. That was Spy Training 101. I did not object, though, Barton did. Why he was doing all this for me I couldn’t tell you (I still can’t, that’s something you’d have to ask Clint about. I never seem to have the courage to ask, I think I am more afraid of that answer than the time I asked him how Loki had ordered him to kill me...). But, I was thankful. There had been a few hours of silence when out of nowhere Clint’s head snapped up. His eyes stared holes into mine and he said, “Hundred’s?” I knew exactly what he was talking about. “Closer to a thousand actually.” “You can’t be any older than eighteen... early twenties at the most. How can someone so young have so many kills?”

A smirk pulls up the corner of my mouth and all I have to say in response is, “Eighty.”

“Huh?”

“I’m eighty. That’s why I have so many kills under my belt.” I watched as all the color drained from his face.

“Oh.” He blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “That hadn’t been in your file.”

“I imagine there wasn’t a lot about me personally.”

“No... no there wasn’t...” A few heartbeats of silence later. "You look good for eighty."


End file.
